Cheap Thrills
by chosenpotter
Summary: A story about a girl named Gemma Greene, and a boy named Harry Potter. Sure, they fall in love. But this won't be cliché.
1. Chapter 1

A girl sat alone in a compartment, book up to her nose and not paying attention to the beautiful scenery outside her window. She only looked up when the door to the compartment opened, and three kids entered. The raven-haired one spotted her, breaking into a small smile.

"Hey, Gem." he said, sitting next to her. "Good summer?"

"As good as it can get." she replied, lowering her book onto her lap. "And I already know about yours, Harry. I hope you're all alright, with the Dark Mark appearing during the Cup and all."

"It was a scare." the brunette, Hermione, said as she rummaged through her trunk for that day's Daily Prophet. "But we're all fine."

The redhead, Ron, sat next to Hermione, across from her and Harry.

"The Cup was an amazing match, though." he said eagerly, leaning forwards. "Viktor Krum was spectacular."

"I think he's in love, Gemma." Harry teased, earning a smack on the leg.

Gemma laughed, smiling at Harry before opening her book back up.

She was a Gryffindor, and friends with the Trio since first year. She enjoyed hanging out with them, though most of the time she was off with her Ravenclaw friends instead.

"Best put away your dress robes before Malfoy comes along." Hermione said, pointing to the lacy outfit laying across Ron's lap.

"Right. Yeah." Ron flushed, trying to tuck them away into his trunk.

The weather outside was getting gloomier, and rain began to pour. The candy trolley came along soon enough, and Harry bought a stack of Cauldron Cakes for the four of them to share.

Harry and Ron soon started chatting about Quidditch, and Hermione rolled her eyes, hiding behind the Daily Prophet.

"We saw him right up close, as well," Ron said, talking to Gemma about Krum. "We were in the Top Box-"

"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley."

Draco Malfoy had finally made his appearance, flanked by his two goons, Crabbe and Goyle. They both looked like they had grown over the summer.

"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy." Harry said coolly.

"Weasley, what is that?" Malfoy pointed at the sleeve of Ron's dress robes, which hung out of the side of his trunk.

Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy was too quick for him; he seized the sleeve and pulled.

"Look at this!" Malfoy crowed, holding up Ron's robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle. "Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean, they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety..."

"Eat dung, Malfoy!" Ron said, the same color as the dress robes as he snatched them back out of Malfoy's grip.

Malfoy howled with laughter, while Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly.

"So...going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know, you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won..."

"What are you talking about?" snapped Ron.

"Are you going to enter?" Malfoy repeated. "I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?"

"Tell us what you're on about or leave, Malfoy." Gemma said annoyedly, looking up from her book.

A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy's pale face.

"Don't tell me you don't know?" he said delightedly. "You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago, heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry, maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley. Yes, they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him..."

Laughing once more, Malfoy beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them disappeared.

Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind them that the glass shattered.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, taking out her wand. "Reparo."

The glass flew back into place, and Gemma shared a look with Harry, who shrugged.

"Well, making it look like he knows everything and we don't..." Ron snarled. "'Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry', Dad could've got a promotion any time, he just likes it where he is..."

"Of course he does," Hermione said quietly. "Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron-"

"Him? Get to me?! As if!" Ron said, picking up one of the remaining Cauldron Cakes and squashing it into a pulp.

Ron's bad mood continued for the rest of the journey. He didn't talk much as they changed into their school robes, and was still glowering when the Hogwarts Express slowed down at last and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station.

The rain was pouring down buckets as they disembarked, heads down and eyes narrowed against the icy downpour.

"I'd hate having to cross the lake in this weather." Gemma remarked. "I hope the first years don't drown before they get to Hogwarts."

A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for them outside the station.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Gemma climbed gratefully into one of them, the door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle.


	2. Chapter 2

The carriages headed towards the castle, swaying dangerously in the wind as they did so.

Gemma peered out the window, eyes sparkling as she spotter Hogwarts. She was so excited to finally be back here.

Finally, the carriages stopped.

People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Gemma jumped down from their carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when they were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.

"If that keeps up, it's going to flood." Ron said, shaking his head and flinging water onto both Hermione and Gemma, who squealed. "I'm soaki- AAARGH!"

A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and exploded. Drenched and sputtering, Ron staggered sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb dropped, narrowly missing Hermione, and a third splashed right onto Harry's feet. Gemma yelped as she dodged out of the way of a fourth one, glaring up at Peeves, who was throwing them. Sometimes, she really hated the school poltergeist.

"PEEVES!" yelled an angry voice. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"

Professor McGonagall had come dashing out of the Great Hall. She skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Gemma around the neck to stop herself from falling.

"Ouch, sorry, Miss Greene."

"It's quite alright, Professor." Gemma gasped out, massaging her neck.

"Peeves, get down here NOW!" McGonagall barked, glaring up at him through her square-rimmed spectacles.

"Not doing nothing!" Peeves cackled, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!"

And he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived.

"I'm warning you, Peeves, I WILL call the Headmaster if you don't stop!" McGonagall warned, crossing her arms.

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely.

"Well, move along, then!" McGonagall said sharply to the bedraggled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"

Harry, Ron, Gemma, and Hermione slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face.

The Great Hall looked beautiful as usual, with its floating candles sparkling high up, and the enchanted ceiling flashing with lightning. It was definitely much warmer in here than it was out in the Entrance Hall, and for that, Gemma was grateful.

"I hope they get the Sorting done quick." Harry mumbled from beside her, trying to empty his shoes of water. "I'm starving."

"Don't be like that, Harry." Gemma smiled, patting him on the shoulder as she sat on his other side. "The Sortings are always exciting."

"If you say so." Harry smiled back at her.

"And besides, Dumbledore should announce whatever that thing is that we're doing this year." Ron cut in, sitting on Harry's other side.

"Hi, Harry!" squeaked a voice from behind them.

"Hi, Colin." Harry groaned, and Gemma had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing.

She knew how much Harry despised Colin following him around. Colin was a sweet boy, but he always seemed to get in the way.

"Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"

"Er...good," Harry said.

"He's really excited!" said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?"

"Er...yeah, all right," Harry said warily, turning back to Gemma. "Brothers and sisters get Sorted into the same House, right?"

"Not necessarily." Hermione said from across from them. "Pavarti's twin got into Ravenclaw if you remember correctly."

"Ah, right."

Gemma peered over at the staff table, noticing that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's seat was empty. They had never had a teacher longer than a year. Gemma's favorite had to be Lupin, by far, who they had last year.

"Where's the Defense teacher?" she asked aloud.

Hermione, who had been looking at the table as well, said anxiously, "Maybe they couldn't get one?"

Gemma pondered that for a second, as she gazed at the other teachers. Hopefully that wasn't the case, she was looking forward to a good class this year.

"Oh, hurry up!" Ron moaned from beside Harry. "I could eat a hippogriff!"

No sooner than he had spoke, Professor McGonagall led the soaking wet first years in. All of them looked like they had swum across the lake, instead of sailing. One mousy looking boy wore Hagrid's large coat around him, but he looked like he was having the time of his life. Gemma guessed that he was Colin's brother, and she was right as she saw him catch Colin's eye and mouth, "I fell in the lake!"

McGonagall put down the familiar stool, and the patched-looking Hat on top of it. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, then the rip at the brim of the Hat opened and began to sing.

"A thousand years or more ago,

When I was newly sewn,

There lived four wizards of renown,

Whose names are still well known:

Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,

Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,

Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,

Shrewd Slytherin, from fin.

They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,

They hatched a daring plan

To educate young sorcerers

Thus Hogwarts School began.

Now each of these four founders

Formed their own house, for each

Did value different virtues

In the ones they had to teach.

By Gryffindor, the bravest were

Prized far beyond the rest;

For Ravenclaw, the cleverest

Would always be the best;

For Hufflepuff, hard workers were

Most worthy of admission;

And power-hungry Slytherin

Loved those of great ambition.

While still alive they did divide

Their favorites from the throng,

Yet how to pick the worthy ones

When they were dead and gone?

Twas Gryffindor who found the way,

He whipped me off his head

The founders put some brains in me

So I could choose instead!

Now slip me snug about your ears,

I've never yet been wrong,

I'll have a look inside your mind

And tell where you belong!"

The Great Hall rang with applause as the Hat finished.

"That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us." Harry said from beside Gemma.

"Well, it sings a different one every year." Gemma told him.

"It's got to be boring, being a hat." Ron remarked. "You have to spend all year thinking of a new song."

Gemma tuned the Sorting out as it began, merely watching the first years as they scrambled to their different house tables.

Finally, little Dennis Creevey got Sorted into Gryffindor, eagerly clambering into the seat beside his brother and starting to babble.

Finally, the last first year got Sorted, and Gemma allowed herself to tune back in.

Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.

"I have only two words to say to you," he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."


	3. Chapter 3

The House tables suddenly filled with food, and all of the students began to load up their plates.

Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, looked mournful as he watched them all eat.

"Ahh, 'at's be'er," Ron said, his mouth full of mashed potatoes.

Gemma shot him a disgusted look. Of course, Ron always ate that way. But that didn't mean that it wasn't still disgusting.

"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," Nearly Headless Nick said. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."

"Why? Wha' 'appened?" Harry asked, through a sizable chunk of steak.

"Peeves, of course," Nearly Headless Nick shook his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up on his neck. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast- well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost's council- the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance- but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."

The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent ghost covered in silver bloodstains. Gemma peered around Nearly Headless Nick, seeing if she could spot him from her seat. He was floating close to Malfoy, who looked displeased.

"Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something," Ron said darkly. "So what did he do in the kitchens?"

"Oh the usual," said Nearly Headless Nick, shrugging. "Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits-"

Clang.

Hermione had knocked over her golden goblet. Pumpkin juice spread steadily over the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid no attention.

"There are house-elves here?" she said, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless Nick. "Here at Hogwarts?"

"Certainly," said Nearly Headless Nick, looking surprised at her reaction. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."

"I've never seen one!" said Hermione.

"Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?" said Nearly Headless Nick. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning...see to the fires and so on...I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?"

Hermione stared at him.

"But they get paid?" she said. "They get holidays, don't they? And- and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?"

Nearly Headless Nick laughed so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck.

"Sick leave and pensions?" he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. "House-elves don't want sick leave and pensions!"

Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.

Gemma frowned over at her. Was she really that upset over a couple of house-elves? Hermione had never been interested in that kind of thing before.

"Oh c'mon, 'Er-my-knee," said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. "Oops- sorry, 'Arry-" He swallowed. "You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself!"

"Slave labor," said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner. Slave labor."

And she refused to eat another bite.

The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings.

"Treacle tart, Hermione!" said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. "Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!"

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up. Gemma giggled at this, covering her hand with her mouth. Hermione always knew how to shut Ron up.

When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered," Gemma could hear Hermione make a noise of disgust from beside her. "I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"What?!" Gemma heard Harry exclaim from beside her.

She could see Fred and George, who were sitting a little ways down the table, mouthing soundlessly at this announcement. Harry's jaw was still dropped, and his fists were clenched.

Dumbledore went on, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy- but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers' table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Gemma gasped.

The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any Gemma had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening.

One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye - and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all they could see was whiteness.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbhedore shook it, muttering words that Gemma and the other Gryffindors couldn't hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students chapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

"Moody?" Harry muttered to Ron from beside Gemma. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?"

"Must be," Ron said in a low, awed voice.

"What happened to him?" Gemma whispered, her eyes wide. "What happened to his face?"

"Dunno," Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination.

Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and Gemma saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" Fred said loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar."

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

"Er- but maybe this is not the time...no..." said Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament...well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."

Gemma didn't let her attention wander, for once, her eyes fixed on Dumbledore as he began to speak.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

"Death toll?" Gemma whispered, looking alarmed.

But her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly to one another, and Harry looked far more interested in hearing about the tournament than worrying about deaths that had happened hundreds of years ago.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger."

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

"I'm going for it!" Fred hissed from down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches.

He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, Gemma could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age- that is to say, seventeen years or older- will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This-" Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious- "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.

"They can't do that!" George said, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"

"They're not stopping me entering," Fred said stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"

"Yeah," Ron said, a faraway look on his face. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons..."

"Come on," Hermione said impatiently, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Gemma, Fred, and George set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament.

"Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?" Harry asked.

"Dunno," Fred said, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George..."

"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," Ron said.

"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" Fred replied, crossing his arms. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."

"People have died, though!" Hermione said in a worried voice as they walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.

"Yeah," said Fred airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get 'round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"

"You'd better not." Gemma said sternly. "It's dangerous. And as if Dumbledore's going to be fooled by the likes of you two."

"Oh, come off it, Greene." George said, his eyes twinkling. "Wouldn't you want to enter too?"

"No!" Gemma exclaimed. "It's stupid, not to mention you could get yourselves killed!"

"I probably haven't learned enough." Neville said gloomily from behind them. "I expect my gran'd want me to try, though. She's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor. I'll just have to- oops..."

Neville's foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. There were many of these trick stairs at Hogwarts; it was second nature to most of the older students to jump this particular step, but Neville's memory was notoriously poor. Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armor at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily.

"Oh, shut it." Gemma snapped as they passed it, slamming the visor down.

"Password?" the Fat Lady asked as they approached the portrait hole.

"Balderdash." George said. "A prefect downstairs told me."

The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which they all climbed. A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables.

"Slave labor did that." Hermione muttered darkly, marching towards the stairs to the girl's dormitory.

"Well, goodnight." Gemma said, giving Harry and Ron a hug each before heading up the stairs after Hermione.

She and Hermione were the only ones there, as Parvati and Lavender hadn't arrived yet. Hermione was already in bed, her nose behind Hogwarts, A History.

Gemma quickly changed into her nightgown, climbing into her own bed and blowing out the lantern beside it.

"Night, Hermione." Gemma offered, but only got a grunt in reply.

Gemma sighed and settled back against her pillows. Thoughts of the Tournament swam in her head before she finally drifted off to sleep.


End file.
